


Fog of Echoes

by Joanna_Kay



Category: Code Black (TV)
Genre: Canon Mental Illness, Gen, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, mentions of canon suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-15
Updated: 2021-02-15
Packaged: 2021-03-12 23:40:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29268867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Joanna_Kay/pseuds/Joanna_Kay
Summary: After a long shift at Angels, Ethan has some unwanted company.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 2





	Fog of Echoes

**Author's Note:**

> This is just a scene that popped into my head when working on my first (unposted) Code Black fic and wouldn't let go.

The house was deeply shadowed as Ethan Willis let himself in the front door, the only light coming from the street lamps outside. He moved with assurance through the mostly empty rooms, dropping his motorcycle helmet in a corner and hanging his jacket over a hook on the wall before making his way to the kitchen. A mostly drained cup of coffee sat on the counter, matched by a few dishes dumped in the sink. It had all been abandoned there close to three days ago, the majority of that time spent at Angels Memorial with the ER in code black.

The LA County ER could be just as frantic as any battlefield; the Army colonel had found out during his tenure. Even if none of the doctors and nurses weren’t battle-trained medics, they were just as willing to jump into the fray to help those sick and injured. It was something the man could appreciate, making him feel a bit more at home stateside than he thought he ever would again.

A flicker in the corner of his eye caused him to turn with a frown. A darker shadow figure was pacing back and forth in one of the bedrooms. Ethan shook his head as he grabbed a bottle of whiskey and a tumbler.

He had showered at Angels, knowing that he wouldn’t be up to showering and eating when he got home. From past experience, he knew that he was going to crash and crash hard. The shower had done its job, not just beating the stress out of his shoulders but invigorating him just enough for the motorcycle ride home to be not quite as dangerous as it could have been.

It wouldn’t be the first night he had skipped dinner. A quick shot of whiskey burned his throat and caused warmth to bloom in his belly as he wandered over to where he kept his sleeping bag rolled up. A few quick practiced movements and it was set up and his clothes were shed, the man settling into the bag’s depths and closing his eyes.

The sunlight pouring through the window of his living caused Ethan to grimace and shift to avoid it, throwing one arm over his eyes. The wood floor creaked beneath him creaked at the movement and he sighed, knowing that sleep was going to be elusive from here on out. He paused, bright eyes closed against the light behind his arm, and drew a deep breath. He wasn't as refreshed as he could have been, but the time spent asleep had helped.

He leisurely got to his feet and stretched, groaning as his back realigned with a series of pops, before bending forward to touch the floor with his fingertips. On his way back up, he glanced at his watch, shaking his head as he read that it was just shy of 11 am.

He had fallen asleep less than 6 hours ago.

Wandering through the empty room and hallway, he made his way to the equally barren kitchen, opening a cabinet and grabbing the coffee grounds to begin a pot in the lone appliance sitting on the counter. A quick grab and a beat-up thrift store toaster was plugged in next to it and bread was browning on its way to toast. A trip to the only bathroom in the house and then half a bottle of water was drained as the scent of coffee began to permeate the quiet room.

A quick stretch and a few minutes later and the toast was finished, one cup of coffee drained. Ethan debated a second cup before shaking his head. He'd come back to it. Clad in quickly drawn on workout clothes, feet clad in battered sneakers that had once been white, and he was ready for a nice run. It had been too long since he'd felt the reassuring burn of his leg muscles. The ER at Angels was great at stretching his mind, but sometimes the colonel just wanted the satisfying burn that only working out could give.

He had just reached down to grab his phone from the charger when movement in the corner of his eye caught his attention.

The pacing figure was back, this time recognizable in the LA sunlight. A pair of filthy jeans were paired with a sweat-stained desert khaki shirt, short hair rumpled by fingers wearing through the strands. It stopped and turned towards the doorway, blue eyes accentuated by dark bags under them, tired lines warping masculine features.

“Ethan!”

He flinched as if a gunshot had rung out, eyes slipping closed against the body before him. Sensitive ears picked up steps against wooden floors and he took a deep breath as he began to count in his mind.

Five. The only thing he could hear were the birds outside, singing in the sunshine. His neighbors bickering good-naturedly. Cars on the street,

Four. The air was still, smelt a bit stale beneath the elixir of coffee and toasted bread.

Three. His phone was slick and cool beneath his fingers.

Two. He was in Los Angeles, in a home he fully intended on renovating but had never gotten around to it. He was not in Afghanistan anymore.

One. He was alone in this house. There was no one else there.

Blue eyes opened and he swore beneath his breath, bright eyes meeting his own.

“I’m not going anywhere, Ethan,” the figure of his brother reassured him. Taunted him. It was the same thing.

“I am,” he muttered, shouldering past the figure. He eyed the lone decoration in the room, a folded flag taking a place of pride on one wall as he made his way outside into the sunshine.

“I’ll be here when you get back!”

Ethan resolutely shut the door behind him, not bothering to lock it. He didn’t have anything worth stealing anyway.

A nice run was what he needed, he decided. Followed by a quick shower and then heading back to Angels. He wasn’t on shift for another 12 hours but he knew he’d find something to do there.

If Campbell tried to throw him out? Well, he didn’t work for the man anyway.

He glanced in the bare window as he started a slow jog on the sidewalk and was met with the sight of a rope fluttering in the nonexistent breeze.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback is appreciated!


End file.
